


Alone Together

by PinkAfroPuffs



Series: Fate/Slutty Meme Magus [12]
Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Arc: Solomon (Fate/Grand Order), Denial of Feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hugs, Temple of time spoilers, well there's sex in this one but it's fade to black, whatever theyre married at this point does it really matter what bond it is lmfao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:28:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22220311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkAfroPuffs/pseuds/PinkAfroPuffs
Summary: The space that time forgot has vanished and so has he. The Grand Order is finished. All that remains are those that are left in the aftermath, including someone who didn't realize he cared."Come, stay with me. If only for the night, if only for the warmth. I promise I won't eat your heart. Only your dreams."
Relationships: Fujimaru Ritsuka/Merlin | Caster, Romani Archaman & Fujimaru Ritsuka, Romani Archaman & Merlin | Caster
Series: Fate/Slutty Meme Magus [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1445371
Kudos: 39





	Alone Together

**Author's Note:**

> There's only one more fic in the Slutty Meme Magus Series, and it'll be coming soon. I hope you've all enjoyed it so far and stick with me for just a little longer.
> 
> I need to stop listening to Fall Out Boy before bed.

Some endings are just too sad.

Merlin knows that they’re wonderful and agonizing at once; the feeling of reading something cover to cover only to find its terribly tragic ending is just as sad and empty as the beginning only feels frustrating, though warranted. Expected. A beautiful reminder of how grand a single, selfish wish can be. Or how devastating.

The end of the world had come and gone; still, Merlin sat in his room, legs crossed as he reviewed the events of the previous evening. Soon the horrors of Solomon’s Temple would be a memory, an “almost nightmare” that had never truly come to fruition. A plethora of new emotions floated through the atmosphere in the impressively hidden base, and Merlin drank them in the way he would a cool glass of water. He’d miss this. Mmm...but he’d have to take all of these cool little knick knacks to take home with him. 

He wanted to ignore the pulsing light from his own LED screen on the desk; he’d considered closing the laptop, but couldn’t bring himself to. It felt like being reminded of something. Merlin wasn’t sure what. 

From behind him, the door made a soft noise upon opening; he glanced back through the fringe of his hood, though only barely, knowing already who it was. At first he said nothing, watching as she took a tiny step into the room and closed the door behind her; when a few seconds passed, she slid to her knees and pressed her forehead to his back, almost burying it in his hair. 

A few more moments ticked by. In a rather soft tone, he said, “Hmm. Is this a ‘booty call’?”

No answer. He raised his head a bit, eyes cast to the ceiling. As though he’d given permission, she wrapped her arms around his middle and pressed herself against him. Soft, stuttering breaths escaped her; when she found it in her to say something, it came out like a large, relieved sigh. “Y-yeah, sure.”

Hm. “Well, that’s no good at all,” he murmured, taking hold of her hands. “You wouldn’t be able to keep up with me in that state.” To prove his point, he leaned forward, slipping out of her grasp so that he could turn to see the last living Master’s face; puffy and angry blotches against dark brown skin, bloated circles underneath her eyes, and lips as puffy as a fish, Ifumi Rockwell looked like she’d just lost the best friend she’d ever had. 

And she had. God, she had. Her right arm was fractured in two places, the bandage on her cheek covering where she’d been hit by Goetia; her eyes cast to the ground, and then simply away from his face, ashamed as she hiccupped and took gulps of air as she sobbed, hoping to hold in her tears by holding her breath. 

A little sigh escaped him. “Come here.”

She puffed her cheeks out at him, but obliged, going so far as to throw herself into his chest, arms wrapping around his back. He hummed approvingly at her warmth; shifting to get more comfortable, his arms easily found themselves around her and he did much of the same, chin resting on her head. Warm fuzziness spread through the numbness in his bones; after a while he said, “Stay as long as you like.”

And he meant it. Even when 4am rolled around and they were still a tangle of limbs, he only spoke when he wanted to remind her, “Mash will be looking for you soon.”

She stirred from her sleep at his words; when she leveled her gaze with him, she said, “My eyes still look bad though, don’t they? Can you...fix that for me?”

A wave of pity washed over him. He cupped her cheek in one of his hands, examining the softness of her skin and the roundness of her face, ravaged by fits of stress and lack of sleep. “I could.” And then, softly, “But an illusion is just that. Do you want to lie that badly?”

The young Master blew a bit of air out of her nose. “So you can lie but I can’t?” 

He didn’t say anything to that. She seemed to think this was permission for her to continue, “I can’t let Mash see me like this.”

“Is she the only one who lost someone?” He asked mildly. 

“She needs someone to look up to.” Ifumi shifted from her place in his lap, taking a deep breath as she started finger combing her jet black, afro-textured hair. “So I should at least look less-”

“Ifumi.” Though he wouldn’t admit it, this sort of thing was really irritating. It always rubbed him the wrong way, keeping up appearances for this and for that. Humans were so silly sometimes. Most times. Often.

“Don’t ‘Ifumi’ me,” she began, rather defensive, hands still in her hair. “Mash is still young, you know? I can suck it up for a few hours-”

“Ifumi.” He repeated, a bit softer. She sobered. Wisely, he went on, “A few hot tears never hurt anyone.” It may change her image of Ifumi a bit, but no more or less than was needed. She had been too strong in Babylonia; even when Mash broke down and cried, even when her own fingers began necrosis, she’d kept her gaze forward, her senses sharp, and only once had he heard her say, “We’re boned.”

It was an unkind thing. She wasn’t a king. She should be more selfish. 

(He decided, after a moment, that most kings were selfish; it was that _one_ that hadn’t understood that a bit of selfishness was good- but who would have told her? Her trusted mentor had clairvoyance but no foresight to teach her it.)

Ifumi’s shoulders slumped. She must still be struggling under all of that weight. “You aren’t crying.”

“I don’t have feelings,” he reminded her. “Or perhaps you’ve forgotten?”

This time, she looked at him with the pitiful gaze. He didn’t mind it. It wasn’t new. “I’d argue, but I’m too tired,” she sighed. 

“How lucky I am for that,” he laughed softly. “Mm...if you’re too tired to argue, you must be too tired to walk,” he murmured, nuzzling against her neck. “It’s not as though you have anywhere to be today, right? Stay with me.” He needed the distraction, the hum of her heart, the sighs from her lips, the coconut smell of her curls. A sudden, more insistent urge overcame him, his fingers tangling and twirling her soft curls with one hand and cupping her backside with the other, his lips close to her ear. If she wouldn’t be selfish, he would be. “Stay with me, Ifumi.”

The thrum of her heartbeat made him excited; a soft noise escaped her just before she chuckled nervously into his hair, her hand against his cheek. “Everything you say sounds like making a deal with the devil.”

“I promise I’ll eat your dreams and not your heart,” he murmured against her throat, biting his lip as she took a shuddering breath. “Is that enough?”

“...I just finished crying.”

“Mm?” He peeked up at her through the white of his lashes. “And?”

“And…!” Oh, she was cute. Now he _really_ needed this, hands eager to roam and squeeze, his mouth aching to taste every inch of her. In a stroke of luck- or providence- she decidedly huffed, “Lock the door.”

* * *

There is a saying that the language of grief is known only to those who have experienced it. Ifumi has lost more than her share of things and grieved over each and every one- of shattered dreams, lost items, family members, friends. There’s still no preparation for it, and she knows she’ll continue to grieve in the future, and that each new lost thing will feel different than the last. 

It smells like flowers. She knows better than to think that Merlin’s room always smells that way, but when she realizes he isn’t beside her, she pulls on her clothes and sits in the room herself, wondering what to think. 

None of Chaldea’s rooms are _big_ per se; they’re about as big as an average dormitory room at her college for two, which _should_ be a room for one, but that doesn’t mean there’s enough space for her not to bump into things as she finger combs her hair out, her elbow knocking directly into the desk. “Ow.” Stupid funny bone. She wasn’t laughing! Whatever stupid dummy named it a funnybone was an asshole. 

(She guessed they were probably someone like Merlin, and sort of grumbled about that too.)

The screen on the desk blared to life; momentarily blinded by the light, she swatted idly at it, though when her eyes adjusted to it she could see the idle cursor blinking in what looked like a message system. 

A pause.

Without further delay, she found herself stretching and hastening out the door; she walked down one hall, then the next, and then another. When she found him, he was standing in front of the huge windows on the second floor, windows that, until now, had only ever showed blizzards and flurries of snow. But it looked different this time. For the first time since she’d come there, the view of the outside was clear. 

There were a great many feelings she’d watched Merlin express; though he had a couple “default” expressions (mild amusement, mild displeasure, complete vacancy, non-threatening vacancy, and gleeful, chaotic amusement- enough to, as he said, mirror humans in ways that wouldn’t put them off) Ifumi always found herself fixated on the in betweens, the ones that were only caught in his eyes, or around his mouth. There were feelings that he probably didn’t understand- most people didn’t, really- and even more than comprehend, he could never really notice that more often than not, he acted in the absence of people. In the sparsely decorated, completely silent, empty hallway, she watched his eyes search for nothing across the snowy landscape, eyelashes dimmed over a beautifully miserable portrait of someone unchanging. Someone left behind. Someone alone.

He thoughtfully rubbed the pads of his index fingers and thumb against one another, as though analyzing a substance; completely still, his gaze lowered to that hand, and then slowly up into the window, no doubt where he could see her reflection in it. “Good morning.” A little smile twitched at his lips, upturning his eyes and nose in a slow but deliberate manner that was clearly practiced. Mild amusement. “Or maybe I should say, ‘good afternoon’? Did you sleep well?” And then, with a slightly more playful smile, “Should I have gone a bit easier on you?”

Ifumi didn’t answer. She was too focused on deciphering if the slightly pink rings just under his eyes were from the dim lighting or something else. Then she said, “No one is here.”

His smile didn’t change, though his eyes softened at the corners. 

“You look tired.” Tentatively, she reached to cup his cheek in her palm, first with one hand, and then the other. Obliging, he leaned a bit to meet her, his eyes sliding closed as she cradled his face in her hands. 

“You’re warm,” he murmured, turning his face so that his nose met her palm, and she couldn’t help thinking he meant something else- though she always thought that about him, that Merlin was constantly saying or meaning something else. 

He’d never admit anything. He was Merlin, for chrissakes. She sort of wanted to punch him for that, but was far too tired to find the strength to seriously consider it. “...come back to bed with me,” she said aloud. “But in My Room this time. We have internet again and I wanted to put on a movie.”

“Oh?” He cupped her hand in his and pressed a kiss to her palm. “Are you asking for ‘Netflix and chill’?”

“Something like that.” She slipped one of her hands from his face and took his hand. “But more chilling instead of not-watching-netflix.”

“Hmm…” A soft sigh escaped him as he contemplated it- and not for long, as his eyes flickered up to her in that playful way he did when he wanted something, or was testing her limits. But the gaze seemed tired, like he wanted to be difficult but could not. Like he wanted to tease her, but couldn’t find a place to start. It was why she wasn’t surprised when he said, “Well, I don’t see why not. Lead on, Master.”

So she did. She led him down the long, silent hallways where servants generally stayed out of their way, where DaVinci, in her workshop, sat silent with two cups of tea at her table, past Roman's room, where Mash and Sherlock sat, through the common room for snacks, and then to her own. They sat on her bed, and for a very long time, she played the part of a very large teddy bear as she sat in his lap, his chin on top of her head until she heard the very soft, nearly inaudible sound of steady breathing.

She didn’t say anything at first. Then, very softly, she sighed, “Stupid man,” and pulled his arms a bit closer around her middle as the movie droned on in the background. 


End file.
